Reading a script's always a potential disappointment, like consuming a recipe instead of the cake. Certain forms--an exhilirating theatrical performance, a delirious action film--flatten out on the page. I'm not sure I want, for instance, to read what Chow-Yun Fat and John Woo were building from to end up here
; I just want to go there. And reading reviews of this play's Broadway staging, with Jeff Daniels, Hope Davis, Marcia Gay Harden, and James Gandolfini.... maybe I just really wanted to go there. And reading the script, I can imagine the pleasures that might have been. . . .
But it'd at best still be cake, not a meal. And maybe a half-baked cake at that: Reza's play is about ostensibly civilized bourgies barely containing their petty rages and narcissism as they try to grapple with a particularly vicious fight between their respective young boys. And then, when they do fail to contain aforementioned rage, they are mean. I could imagine that cast ripping this up, having all kinds of fun, but there's not a lot going on beyond those small, familiar "revelations" of what lies behind the mask. (Maybe it's Who's Afraid of Michael Cunningham?
, more a mean barky dog than the Woolf
ish snarler it unflatteringly resembles.)